Upon the Edge of a Knife
by starlight2005
Summary: A story of the many trials of Mahado, and the love between the Prince, Atemu, and his Priest, Seto.  Scandalshipping - Using SKYY to avoid confusion
1. Chapter 1

**Upon The Edge of a Knife**

_A story of_ _the many trials of Mahado, and the love between the Prince, Atemu and his priest, Seto._

_Warnings: AU, yaoi, violence, character deaths, story length_

* * *

><p><strong>CHAPTER ONE: Ambush! <strong>

**NOW **

It was a trap.

With increasing horror, the horses neighed as the charioteers struggled to regain control of the beasts amid a wave of arrows that assailed the unsuspecting soldiers. Some had been precise and reached their targets, producing alarmed sounds as the ambushed troop grappled for control of the situation. The ambush was well-planned, if only by the thought that the small patrol was far from town and reinforcements, even if sent, would arrive too late. And with archers in their midst, the mercenaries had the clear advantage.

The priest, Mahado, headed this small group and hastily called for a retreat, hoping to save his men. For his efforts, an arrow pierced his shoulder and he shouted in pain, clutching his arm as he struggled to keep himself from falling off his horse. At his distressed shout, however, his men circled him, guarding him with swords in hand in a futile attempt to protect him. For the briefest of moments, his chest soared with pride. These guards, he had trained with and recruited them personally. To bear witness to their unwavering courage and loyalty in the face of death was humbling.

But he said, "Retreat! Save your lives!"

They would not leave. Despite his mistake of trusting too eagerly the 'local' that eventually led them to this situation; despite his inability to protect them when he had promised them that. He would have them save themselves. He urged his steed to run, his escape followed by his men's own. He chanced to look at them, in their steeds or chariots, shooting at the archers who hid behind the rocks in that narrow pass. They could escape this, and his hope increased. They had only been wounded and none had died. But when he looked at the pass again, his initial joy of having their lives spared dissipated. He paled. They were being pursued by twice as many men as he had.

"We can outrun them," he encouraged, refusing the dread to sink in. "Do not stop. We will reach the town."

It was only a day's ride, the town. They would reach it mere moments after sunset; half a day if they persevered even harder. And yet, when their pursuers started firing at them, aiming for their steeds, their chances fell to a meagre single digit. At their rear, one of his men howled in agony, an arrow piercing his chest and he fell, his steed stopping. Anemro, the one nearest his fallen soldier, stopped as well, planning to get the body and thus, making himself vulnerable to the arrows. With renewed horror, Mahado watched as each man stopped, himself included, intending to protect the others who had stopped before.

The distance between them and their pursuers slowly shortened.

"We have to go quickly!" He ordered, his worry for his men devouring him and leaving him breathless. No amount of experience could teach him to quell his fear for these men, especially for a mistake as grave as this. "This is not the time to be valorous. We will fight another day. Let us go!"

"We are open targets here, Captain," Anemro said. They had taken to calling him that. A priest would not wield a sword as deadly as he would, they had often joked. And besides, weren't they more than underlings, and more of soldiers? "You are just as vulnerable as us. You must leave us, Captain."

"No!" It was either they go or die together.

Their foes were already in view, and the reality of the situation sunk in. They were tired of running, his men. They itched to fight for Ibenre, who was slain. Yet even then, he did not want to leave them.

"My lord, please go," one of them pleaded further, voicing the thought that everyone else hesitated to raise. They were men of the blade now, and for a long time, they had known that their fate was to die by it as well. There was no other acceptable option. But they would die on a time of their choosing—now—to give Mahado time to escape. He had always been deemed more important than them; his status assured him that. Their lives they would give up for his. Mahado's guts twisted as the thought sickened him. They were his friends!

Mahado watched as each individual member of his patrol jumped from their horses and chariots, brandishing bows to return fire. Their eyes fell on him one last time, compelling him to cede to their request, before re-focusing their attention to their pursuers. He was their captain. How could he leave them to their deaths?

"Mahado, leave us!"

Mahado had turned his steed around, removing his blade from its sheathe, and this had caught everyone's attention. Now, it was their turn to be horrified and as they all tarried, their enemies drew even closer. One enemy archer fired, almost hitting his target, Mahado's hand. The blade dropped with a clang, and it was the last straw. Although the priest refused to desert them, they would not have it. Mkhai, their youngest member, quickly re-directed the priest's steed and slapped its rear, relishing in its shocked neigh and its quick gallop to safety. At least their captain would live to see another day for all of them.

"NO!" Mahado shouted, grabbing the reigns, "Don't do this!"

But his men would not move, determined to cover for him and to prevent anyone else to come after him.

"I refuse!"

Yet his steed could not be reasoned with, and the glance his men threw him was of gratitude and goodbye—gratitude for many unmentioned things and goodbye because it was the inevitable. Even when he regained control of the beast, he was too late. He was too far from them. Even if he returned to them, they would all be dead.

If they were slain and he returned, their sacrifice would be in vain. If they were alive and he did not return, they could still survive long enough for him to be able to send reinforcements. That was how operations go, and everyone knew that. That was why they intended to send him away.

Dizziness took over. Mahado threw up the contents of his empty stomach as he collapsed onto his horse in combined exhaustion, pain and grief.

**THEN**

For days, reports of bandits and unorganized rogues terrorizing the outskirt towns of the kingdom were sent to the palace. They hounded the Pharaoh, who promised his people safety from plundering forces. The attacks had gone as far as stopping trade and agriculture, the main industries of the town, putting the people in a state of poverty that was not to be their situation in the first place. They wanted an army, not only to defend them but to pursue and kill those responsible for their misfortune. Yet what the people wanted, the Pharaoh could not always give. They did not know that.

The kingdom's territory was threatened by invaders with superior number and strength, a more pressing threat compared to villainous mercenaries hiding in hills and caves. So instead, the Pharaoh ordered for two of his Guardians, his most trusted Priests, who were equally capable in rituals and diplomacy as in battle, to settle the domestic problem as he settled state affairs abroad.

Priests Mahado and Seto were called to heed the Pharaoh's orders. Among the six Guardians, they had the freshest laudable experience in battle. They had served in the army first, before they committed to priestly training, after all. They were the youngest of the six as well, and many had expected them to get along well. That was not to happen. They were always at odds with each other for an unknown reason.

"Fret not, Master Mahado," Seto said as soon as the Pharaoh gave them their leave. Mahado glanced at him warily, knowing exactly where this conversation was headed. "I can handle this. Leave these kinds of affairs to capable hands."

"Capable hands?" Mahado laughed, earning the other priest's scowl. "Then, Master Seto, pray tell, how can I ever knowingly leave this to you?"

The duo was notorious for their outbursts. Even before they were inducted, Seto and Mahado had never gotten along. Many pointed to Seto's blatant belittlement of Mahado's skills. But Mahado's tendency to rile the short-tempered priest and retaliate could be blamed for exacerbating the situation, too. At Mahado's retort, Seto's eyes hardened into a piercing glare. They would have come to blows had another figure not piped in with his laughter. Both priests froze as the Crown Prince revealed himself.

"Don't you get tired of this ridiculous rivalry, my friends?" the Crown Prince asked. It was rather vexing, honestly. "I would rather see you both helping each other vanquish our foes."

"You've been eavesdropping again," Seto called on him when no one else would dare such blatant disrespect. The prince found his displeasure amusing, though, and it incensed him further.

"The walls have many ears," was the prince's reply. But as he was quick to laughter, he was quick to sobriety, too. With serious eyes, he looked at them, studying each priest. Seto crossed his arms in his usual impatient posture while Mahado met the Prince's gaze, ever welcoming. Such stark contrasts, his friends were, the Prince thought.

"I would not lose either of you to those mercenaries," he reminded, although his gaze lingered with Mahado. "Be careful."

Then, the Prince stepped forward, breaching protocol to encase them in an embrace. To each, he whispered, "Make sure you come back."

**To be continued... **

**A/N: Now, I know, I should be working on One Notch Higher. I am, really. But this has been bothering me all day, yesterday, and I finally decided to write it in time for today. I know not many know but this is actually a gift for myself. It's my birthday today! And I've always wanted to write an AE fic that's AU and a younger Seto, Mahado and Atemu. So, this is the product. I've written the next five chapters in one sitting, so updates will hopefully be frequent, at least for this week. I'm not kidding about the warning, though. Like I said in the summary, this shows Mahado's many trials... and it might be lengthy in terms of chapters, at least. **

**I got the title from a quote from the Lord of the Rings, when in the FOTR movie, the Lady Galadriel said, "The Fellowship stands upon the edge of a knife. Stray but a little and it will fail. But hope remains, if friends stay true." **

**I thought it was morose and foreboding enough. Heh. **

**Tell me, tell me what you thought. Should I continue this? Did you hate something? I would love to know. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2: Of Discoveries **

**NOW**

The troops that the Pharaoh sent were commissioned to stay at various key locations in the town. In total, they were made of fifty able men, divided into five small patrols, two of which belonged to the Guardians. But the command center was situated at the plaza, where the Priests' tents were set up. With the Priest Mahado gone on patrol, the town was commandeered by the other priest, Seto, who at that moment busied himself with scrolls of maps and reports of mercenary sightings. His tent was in a disorganized sense of order, brimming with documents, weapons and other necessary things that a leader was supposed to have in military operations such as this.

Preoccupied, Seto paid no mind to the commotion outside his tent. They were getting close to the hideout. It was only a matter of finding the right one, for there had been many and the mercenaries were ever moving from one place to another. All the more was it important for him to know and cover everything in order to guarantee a successful mission. After all, with the day a few hours shy of sunset, _everyone _in town would be rushing to finish their tasks, and with their haste, there would be noise in various, annoying forms.

Later, upon Mahado's return, Seto decided, they would agree on a method of attack. He would suffer Mahado's qualms over risks and strategies no more. They would have ended this mission at an earlier date, in fact, had Mahado not raised his uneasiness since they reached the town. It might have prompted him to re-evaluate the situation, which was his current situation, but nevertheless, he fretted over the missed opportunity. Now, if only Mahado's self-satisfying patrolling would end sooner so he could arrive already!

When the commotion devolved into shouts of alert and calls for soldiers' attention, Seto felt the overall environment change. As the noise grew louder, Seto's annoyance grew and he stood up, leaving his tent to identify the source, only to stop as he saw exactly _who _was causing it.

Mahado swayed unsteadily on top of his horse, the combined stress of the blistering heat and travel, his wound and their ambush taking its toll on his weather-battered body. His tunic showed all the evidence of an attack, for blood had seeped into the fabric, staining almost the entire right sleeve. His brown, fatigued eyes fell on Seto before finally, the stress of what he had gone through took his remaining strength away. He was not able to move, or talk, as his eyes slip shut and he promptly lost consciousness. Into Seto's arms, he fell, the other priest having moved to catch him in time. He was no longer aware of the events that occurred afterwards, from the moment Seto barked orders for the healers to come to an immediate dispatch of a search party for his men.

In the many skirmishes that they had been through, Seto and Mahado were no strangers to the injuries that battle imposed on men. They had received minor wounds from time to time, but never as grave as having lost so much blood and consciousness. As Seto carried the wounded priest to his tent, he could not deny the reality that priests as skilled as them could not be forever immune to mortal wounds, and even as he reluctantly worried about Mahado, his thoughts raced for answers to questions that this unfortunate event raised.

For one thing, where were the others and where was their guide?

He watched the healers enter without introduction, heading straight for the unconscious priest. Seto had shut out their frantic conversations, as he raked a hand through his hair. Ra be damned, this was supposed to be a simple patrolling activity!

Movement caught his eye and he looked up, spotting a soldier straying by the entrance.

"Where are his men? Have they been found?" He asked, leaving the healers inside as he pulled the man farther from the tent. His men needed no news about the other priest, not until he felt they were ready to receive them. And that would only be when there were corresponding actions that they would take for whatever reactions this news would invoke.

"The search party has not returned, my lord," the man answered.

"I want no word to be sent out about this incident," Seto then instructed, predicting the outcome if information was revealed that they had been ambushed. It was a blow to the ego, yet this was not a matter of pride, for even if Seto was a proud man, he was more concerned about the implications it would have on the security of one person in the palace in particular.

"Yes, my lord," was the quick response before the man was given his leave.

With Mahado out of commission, and the search party still doing their job, Seto could not conduct an investigation. He only had partial facts, and from there, could only deduce the fate of Mahado's men. Seto might have balked at Mahado's impertinence to request autonomy in selecting his men at first, but they were men of skill, proving many times in battle their loyalty to the priest and the kingdom, that Seto could not help but give them his respect. In other words, he had little doubt that they had died in the battlefield today, their loyalty sealing their fate as they ensured Mahado's safety. Skilled that they were, if they had indeed stayed behind and died, then the patrol was either overwhelmed by a bigger force or ambushed and cornered to their doom.

Dear Gods, why was this happening now?

"Sire," the head healer, Baraka, called.

"What is it?"

"Master Mahado is awake."

Before Baraka made a move to return inside, Seto reached to still him. The man, in his forties and in service to the Pharaoh for most of his life, turned and waited for his questions.

"Tell me his condition," Seto said.

"He is not well. The wound has been poisoned and it would require days of rest for the Master to recover. We have done all that we could to have the poison recede, but until then, he must not be allowed to move from his bed. He is dehydrated as well, sire, but all these, rest and herbs will address in no time," the healer reported, remembering the past times Mahado had been under his care. The boy had a strong immune system. "Physically, he can have a fast recovery."

"Physically? Why is there a distinction? If he is well physically, then he is well," Seto retorted before going inside.

Mahado's arm was in a sling, and his upper body was unclothed, showing the bandage that the healers had wrapped around the right portion of his chest. He had a sickly pallor around him and his eyes were soulless as he gazed at a distance, unseeing and distracted. Mahado had not noticed him, nor did he pay attention to the others who were there in the tent as well. Seto dismissed the healers with a wave of his hand and assured of privacy, took a seat next to the other priest.

"The healers say you will get better," Seto said by manner of greeting. He was received by silence.

"I need to know what happened, Mahado," he tried again, his voice softer as he dropped titles. For this moment, he could be sympathetic. It was not easy to lose one's friends, even less to lose them in battle. They had always been fighting, he and this man. But surely this time, Mahado knew that he had no intention of starting another argument? Seto had primarily a job to do, and that would always supersede their bickering. He could be civil.

Mahado did not react first for truly, he did not know how to. He felt the emptiness in his soul that threatened to overcome his futile struggle against it; a cold, sticky feeling it was, flooding him with despair. If he were honest, he was not even listening to Seto's words right now, only hearing the tone in his voice.

"Mahado, please. I need to know," Seto requested.

Brown, empty eyes fixed on Seto's inquiring blue ones. Mahado's tone was levelled, betraying no emotion as he answered, "Kisara was _their _spy, not ours. We were led to the passes and there, were betrayed. She left our side and was the first to fire an arrow at one of my men, before an ambush was launched."

"No," Seto denied, "She would never..."

"Have you tested her loyalty, Seto, as I have done with my men? I know none of my men betrayed me for now, they all lie dead as I speak. Would she do the same to you? If so, then forgive me for my accusation. But until then, she is a traitor in my mind, and I shan't forgive her," Mahado coldly remarked.

In his grief-stricken mind, Mahado thought of returning to the fields, injury or no. He would send all the troops stationed in this town if need be, and counter-attack with all the force his station could muster. He would have those mercenaries' heads on spears, exhibited for all to see, and have every hideout razed to the ground. But that trickle of rationality that remained with him called out to him, and his men's sacrifice was brought to mind, breaking his revenge-seeking haze. Such rash actions were under the assumption that he was successful, but they had just been overwhelmed this day. Even forty able men would not stand against the complete forces of those traitorous men. He would lead more men to their deaths, a repeat of a recent past, and the thought shamed him.

Mahado would never put his men's deaths to waste.

Feeling his resolve break, Mahado rubbed his eyes in an effort to stop the tears from forming. He would not cry in Seto's presence!

"I would prefer to be alone now, Seto, if you have nothing else to ask?" Mahado asked, grateful that his voice did not shake, or belie his emotions. He would rue the day when he would provide the other priest an opportunity to further mock him.

Understanding the situation, Seto sternly shook his head and wordlessly left the tent. Outside, he gave instructions to stay away from the tent, a clear indication of his respect for Mahado's privacy. The other priest was in the throes of grief, and he would have that the man deal with it now, rather than repress it and break down some other day. In the meantime, he would declare a ceasefire to their personal fighting—even he was not as heartless to inflict such a blow in times like this. His thoughts went back to Mahado's revelation, and he could not help but want to destroy something in his anger.

**THEN**

"You freak!"

"Stop, please! Stop!"

Seto ran to where the sound originated. What he would do when he got there, he had not thought about yet, though. He was in a foreign country, acting as an emissary of the Pharaoh, and hoping immensely to convince the king of this land to accept the peace treaty that Egypt was willing to engage it with. Such crucial decisions were those, he could not afford to cause ruckus among the very people who demanded Egypt's destruction from the get-go. But he could also not ignore the shout that he had heard, and following it brought him to an alley where two men were cornering a hapless victim. One of them had taken hold of the girl, while the other threw her belongings. What caught Seto's attention were her features.

Blue was her hair, and with a lighter hue, so were her eyes. It was an exotic sight even for someone like him, who had travelled to many places. He could understand how her strange features would make her too different to scare these people, and he felt the urge to protect her.

"Unhand her!"

Seto acted purely on impulse, rushing towards them and pulling the man who had captured her roughly away. This was going to end in a brawl, he thought, and he readied himself for it... although really, it would be unnecessary if these men would just take the time to negotiate their release from his fists!

To his surprise, the two moved away instead, eying him with something akin to mischief, although more sinister, before glancing at the girl behind him. They had thrown furtive glances at each other before running away.

Well, well. That was unexpected.

"Are you alright?" Seto asked, facing the girl who had reddened at his focused gaze. She bowed her head, hiding her eyes, before falling to her knees to collect what was left of her belongings. The brutes had not been caring in casting them aside, apparently.

"I am well, sire," the girl answered quietly, still refusing to meet his eyes. Sighing, the priest followed her example and collected the fruits that he assumed were in the basket lying nearby. He grasped her chin gently and tapped it so that their gazes would level. If possible, she reddened even further.

"T-t-thank you, sire," she said," I did not expect to be helped and yet here you are."

"Why not?"

The girl eyed him, incredulous. Surely he had seen in detail, the oddity of her physical features? Surely he understood how people reacted with things they could not accept? "I am cursed to have passed by a community that does not accept diversity, sire."

"As we all," he echoed. "But I am not from here, and I doubt I will find you cursed."

She looked away.

"Do you reside here?" He asked, and was responded with a curt shake of the head. It was unfortunate, then, to be a stranger in this town with such strange looks.

"I was waylaid by bandits," she explained.

"And where were you headed?"

"To Memphis, sire."

"And what business do you have at Memphis?"

"I seek my real parents, sire. I am told that they reside there now, albeit at old age. I wish to meet them."

Seto was orphaned at an early age. He had never met his father, and the man's identity had never been revealed to him. Thus, to him, his father was dead. His mother, he lost at the age of 9 to a sickness that back then held no cure. As an orphan, he was placed under the care of the priests, who had educated him and directed him to a path of priesthood and now, Guardianship. It was a difficult thing to go through, being orphaned, and this was an ordeal he would easily relate to. But perhaps it was even more difficult to grow up and realize the parents who had reared you up, were not the ones who gave birth to you.

Yet, if he was moved by her answer, he did not show it. She would come with him to Memphis, though; that, he could assure her. He stood up, then and offered a hand, "What is your name?"

"Kisara, my lord."

"Follow me."

**To be continued...**

******A/N: I'd like to apologize for the replies I haven't given to the ones who reviewed. Things have gotten rather hectic lately, with the professors starting to dump assignments and other requirements. But I really appreciated them, and thank you for the wonderful feedback. Please do tell me what you think after this chapter. Did you like it? Did you hate it? Should I include more characters from canon? **


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3: An Issue of Trust **

**NOW**

For two days, the camp was sullen and quiet. Conversations were hushed, and rare was laughter to be heard. To have lost one patrol in one big sweep was dreadful, and yet it was the men's captain that was ever in the camped soldiers' minds. The priest Mahado's physical recovery was rapidly gaining pace, and although it was cause of relief to the worried-frantic healers, it was another thing for the warriors, altogether. There was a bond between a captain and his men, and to have lost so many lives, many doubted if the priest would be able to get over this obstacle easily. But they were not to be given chance to think deeply of their concerns.

Priest Seto kept activity bustling despite the dampened mood in camp, and launched a manhunt for Kisara and the bandits. His orders were many and demanded most of the soldiers' time spent on doing his every command that they were worn down by each as the days wore on. If this was the priest's way of ensuring that his soldiers were alert and ready, none could tell. He was ever elusive to their sight, appearing only when he awaited a progress report or to send out another patrol, and his intentions never really brought to light. But they were loyal to him, still, and none of the men questioned when they were deployed no sooner after they had finished their meals.

One hot afternoon saw the Priest Seto attending to his mare, lost in his thoughts. His posture was straight, but his senses were blunted as one of the healers approached him and had caught him unaware. Seto jumped at the man's call, turning around and glaring at the one who dared bother him.

"Sire—"

"Speak quickly; else I will have you flayed for your interruption."

The priest had also gotten even more short-tempered lately.

"Priest Mahado is not doing well, sire."

Seto's eyebrow arched, and the healer gulped. Why, oh why, did Baraka leave him the task of talking to the priest?

"He does not eat. He does not take the herbs that would heal his wounds. He refuses to sleep. He has sent us out again, my lord. He will not see reason," Thutmose, the unfortunate healer to be assigned this task, tried. The glare that was directed at him was menacing and he hesitantly took a step forward. Despite his fear of Priest Seto, he had the Priest Mahado's welfare to think about. Able they might be, the healers could not allow the wounded priest to stay in the place that reminded him most of his grief. "My lord, Priest Mahado must be returned to the palace."

"And this is your _expert _prognosis, healer?" Seto challenged. Oh, what a stubborn man he was!

"Sire, he does not recover here. Everywhere he looks, he is reminded of his perceived shortcomings!"

"Get. Out."

"My lord..." Thutmose pleaded.

"Get out!"

He was done for, Thutmose thought, for there was no mistaking the fury in the priest's voice. He was out of line, yet beyond that, his courage failed him. Even with good intentions, Thutmose dared not disobey the Priest Seto now. With a barely concealed sigh, he bowed respectfully and made his leave, unable to witness the Priest kick the nearby pail hard, seeing it fly with mad satisfaction.

Seto was livid. In fact, he could kill a person in his anger. But contrary to popular belief, it was neither aimed at the other priest nor the healers, who at every possible opportunity suggested that Mahado be sent to the palace. It would ruin his plans. It would ruin his and Mahado's reputations to have the deaths mark their mission a failure when it has not even started yet. With a grunt, he gave the pail another kick before stalking towards his tent.

While Mahado bore the guilt of abandoning his men, Seto bore the guilt and humiliation of sending them to their deaths. It hung over him like an ever present thundercloud, foreboding and relentless in reminding him his shortcomings.

Mahado was not the only one who found the nights terrible, and the mornings a pain. Sleepless were Seto's nights, and combined with the stress of running the entire operation alone, his body demanded a reprieve. He was pushing it too hard! But he would not rest. He could not afford to, and in his tent, Seto exhaled a weary sigh. How could he have been so foolish!

"Has the lair been discovered?" Mahado's voice froze his heart with surprised terror. With a gasp, Seto clutched at his chest and glared at the other priest, hating the distraction that had caused him to not hear Mahado's approach. But his retort died quickly in his lips as Mahado regarded him with a serious look. He was compelled to answer, and in a civil manner.

"I have dispatched men." He did not voice what he knew were Mahado's suspicions. There were too many lairs and with Kisara apparently betraying them, they had no inkling as to which of the many identified lairs was truly the mercenaries' hideout. Mahado frowned.

"Has Kisara been located?"

"Have you applied the healing salve that the healers left for you?" Seto countered, scrutinizing the man closely. Traces of blackened veins were evident in Mahado's arm, and it bothered Seto that the other man would not even exert any effort to conceal his rebellion. If Seto was expecting an angry retort, he was disappointed. Instead, the other priest sighed heavily and shook his head, his voice losing the edge it had assumed a while ago.

"She led us there, Master Seto. Like lambs waiting to be slaughtered as she 'scouted ahead'. What fool am I to believe her? I should have known. Yet all I ever think about is avenging my men," Mahado admitted. "And until she does not prove her innocence, I shall strive to exact upon her justice. That is all I think about now, not my wounds."

"You couldn't have known," Seto consoled, admitting to himself that if he were in Mahado's position, he would be promising the same thing.

"And you?" Mahado said, looking at him suspiciously. "Why do you readily believe me? Have we not been incessantly fighting since we left the palace? Why this change of heart? I would expect at least half an effort to defend her honor! Yet I hear none. Why is that, Seto?"

Because the truth was, there had always been an innate wrongness with Kisara's helplessness. It felt too artificial. Even on their first meeting, Seto had his doubts. Kisara made it too easy to save her, and yet he quelled down his instincts, preferring the comfort of having appeased his conscience temporarily. It was _exhausting _to always be on guard, and so he had forgotten about it. Now look where it got them.

"Why not? Can I not afford to put my trust on you now?" He replied defensively, instead.

Mahado threw his head back and laughed; a dark, half-crazed, half-sobbing sound that was painful to Seto's ears.

"Have you not heard, Seto? I carry with me a death contract! A contract you sign with trust to no doubt follow the fate of those have left behind, preyed by vicious foes. No, Seto, you cannot trust me," Mahado ranted. There were tears in his eyes, and hastily he averted his gaze to wipe them away. "I will no longer keep your men fretting. I will come out tomorrow, do not worry, and appease their concerns. That is what this is all for, is it not?"

"Mahado..."

The priest would not listen to him. Rather, Mahado gave him a curt nod and left.

Seto pulled a face. Oh, this was such a frustrating scenario!

**THEN**

The initiation of a new Guardian was always a grandiose event, only paling in comparison to the birth or anniversary of any royal and of the gods. But as celebrations dwindled down, the Guardian would automatically assume his duties and be expected to perform them without hesitation or much questioning.

All the Guardians were, following initiation, accorded the privilege of ten men serving under him. Ten men for each guardian, they were expected to do his bidding, all in the name and glory of the living Pharaoh. Normally, the Chief Advisor, Shimon, would assign the men already, sparing the Guardian the task and thereby saving his time. But when Mahado was newly inducted, he had denied Shimon's recommendation and instead asked for the chance to choose his men.

The reaction to his unorthodox request was mixed, and initially, the response to it was not in his favour. But he had reasoned out and to the Pharaoh, he had made a convincing argument and so his request was granted. He would, in the future, do justice to the favour he had received and several times, his men would consistently prove their loyalties true.

The only downside to this was the volatile relationship that he had with another Guardian, the High Priest Seto, who until his induction was the youngest and most favoured.

"Surely you expected that to happen? Why, Mahado, he had always dogged your steps since you were chosen to train for this position!" Saini replied over a cup of wine as Mahado relayed to him his recent disagreement with the other Guardian. Saini had served in the army as a healer and in several occasions, had treated Mahado's wounds when he was still in training. He was a man of short but stout stature, with a deep voice that resonated and was a balm to many a soldier's hurts, Mahado included. Through thick and thin, as was often said, Saini had been there. And now, he was to be Mahado's second-in-command. Quite frankly, the priest could not think of anyone else better suited for the position, and together, they scoped the marketplace for nine more people to recruit.

Mahado had the twins, Mhotep and Mdjai, and their friend, Nemti, in mind. Those three were proven to be exceptional scouts and archers... and they had been his peers, undergoing the same hardships he had when they were all still vying to enter the Pharaoh's army.

"I don't understand Master Seto's antagonism towards me. It's been like that since the beginning. But yes, I suppose I've grown to expect it at every turn," Mahado tardily replied, going back to their original conversation. In his peripheral vision, he caught sight of two familiar figures and without warning, stood up, calling their names.

Two similarly-looking men turned around at the noise, but it was Mhotep who was first to identify him, with his far-seeing gaze. He pulled his brother's arm and together, approached the priest.

"If it isn't our favourite priest!"Mdjai greeted.

"He's the _only_ priest we know," his twin corrected. The brothers had pale brown locks, carelessly tied into a loose ponytail, and mischievous brown eyes. Mhotep's eyes were of a darker shade, though, than his brother. He was the more serious twin, who spent more time in gaining military knowledge and strategies, while Mdjai, the more carefree one, honed his fighting skills. Given the opportunity, Mahado thought Mhotep would do well as a diplomat, in spite of his skills in battle.

"Have you been terrorizing the marketplace again, Mdjai?" Saini greeted in Mahado's stead, in tune with the young priest's tendency to grow quiet and reflective. He darted a glance at the brunet and shook his head in fond remembrance of the times when Mahado, at a younger age, would foolishly challenge him to spar. That young man had gotten far, he admitted to himself and he could not deny the pride that he felt for the man, who although not of the same blood was almost like a son to him.

"Why do you always accuse me of so, Saini! I have behaved!" Mdjai protested, earning a chuckle from his twin. "Oh shut up, Mhotep."

"It is nice to see you again, my friends," Mahado belatedly greeted. Mhotep's gaze fell on him as it was his turn to be introspective. Yet Mahado beat him to it, smiling as he said, "I have a proposition for you both."

Mdjai had reacted to the news with excitement. His agreement was warm and a comfort to Mahado's worrying, for although he had considered the twins in an instant, he also could not wholly guarantee that they would immediately like his proposal. Mhotep followed suit, but he was perceptive as usual and he asked, "You could have accepted Master Shimon's recommendations and spared yourself this inconvenience. Yet you did not. Why?"

Now clearly, the curiosity in the twins' eyes was reflected in Saini's as well. Mahado did not tarry in answering, to their satisfaction. "I needed people I could trust, and who else would I consider if not those I've fought and bled with?"

There were no questions after that, except for mundane ones that Mdjai jokingly raised. They got to Nemti then, who only needed to see the twins to agree, before they went to Benipe, a soldier known for his skills with the chariot and to them, for constantly looking out for them in skirmishes. They did not even have to talk any longer. As soon as Benipe saw Saini, he readily accepted.

With half of the group already formed, Mahado headed then to a place to eat, the twins, Naimi and Saini in tow. Benipe had opted out, planning to visit his wife's ailing mother.

"We always knew you'll go far, Mahado," Nemti shyly said. "You were too skilled to remain a foot soldier in the Pharaoh's army."

"I wasn't—"

"If Master Shimon never saw you that day, you would've been conscripted into the army like the rest of us," Mdjai clarified before grinning, "Although that's not exactly as bad as you think! We're more... relaxed than you priests!"

Shaking his head, Saini quickly talked about recruitment plans, diverting their attention to the task at hand. They needed five more, and the first he wanted to approach was Ibenre, the blacksmith. Mhotep suggested Anemro, a fellow soldier who was knowledgeable in warfare _and _languages. But it was Sinulie that was recruited first. Sinulie had passed by their table unexpectedly and Mahado had called him out, recalling the many times they had tried to outrun each other in training. After Mahado vouched for him, he was in. In less than two hours, from five, the quota of ten men only needed two more.

They were walking down one of the least crowded streets when someone shouted, demanding their attention.

"Master Mahado! Master Mahado! Wait, please!"

The priest turned around and saw a teen, perhaps 17 years of age, running towards him enthusiastically. Behind him, his friends snickered and while Mahado retained an impassive expression, the others were not as... astute. Ibenre had reprimanded the boy as soon as he stopped to catch his breath while the twins readily welcomed him with slaps on the back. Sinulie shook his head and Saini laughed. Suffice to say, their reactions confused Mahado. What was up with the boy?

"You know me," Mahado said, his voice betraying his wonder. The boy nodded happily. "What is your name?"

"Mkhai, Master."

"Meet your biggest fan, Mahado," Sinai deadpanned. Indeed, Mkhai seemed to admire the very ground the priest stood on. His eyes shone brightly and his enthusiasm radiated from him in heaps. But to accept Mkhai, at a young age, did not seem wise and to this thought, Mahado frowned.

"I cannot guarantee your safety always, Mkhai," he warned. They go wherever the Pharaoh sent them to, and not all those places would be safe all the time.

"I have been trained, Master. I know how to defend myself, or others, if need be," Mkhai replied.

"He will not go unprotected."

All heads turned to the newcomer, and with masked awe, observed a Nubian approach them. Nubians were far and rare sights in the army; even so, in good company with an Egyptian foot soldier. The Nubian bore many scars on his body, evidence of his experience in war, and Sinai's eyes adopted a glimmer of an idea as he looked at the priest. Mahado met his eyes and nodded.

"You will guarantee this?" Mahado asked of the man, who grunted his affirmation. "What name do we call you?"

"Kawenwati. I have sworn to protect Mkhai, and by extension the men he chooses to affiliate himself with. But do not question his skills for I have personally seen them to be sufficient," was the quick reply.

Mahado sighed and casted a long glace at the Egyptian youth. Mkhai steely looked back, hoping to show his determination through it to win the priest over. When Mahado seemed to give in, his lips broke into a triumphant smile and he turned to Kawenwati, who nodded to give his approval. With ten men under his command, Mahado looked at each one. Most of them were his friends, and now, he would strive to keep this small group tight. They would be brothers-at-arms, and that was his silent vow.

**To be continued...**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4: A Royal Visit **

**NOW**

To the town of Armana, a lone, hooded rider rode. The rider's identity was an intrigue to passers-by, yet no one was able to sneak a peek at the face under the hood for surely if they had, message would be immediately sent back to the palace to announce the spotting of the Crown Prince. There weren't many a reason for the Crown Prince to defy his father's orders, ones given especially to ensure his safety, but news had come that afternoon of the sad fate Mahado's men had met in the mountainous boundaries of Armana. Mahado's worsening condition had been brought to light, as well, at the opportune moment that Atemu had entered the court to hear just that. His father's advisers, knowing exactly what he would do, had explicitly forbade him to leave the palace walls, echoing his father's command before the Pharaoh departed for his trip abroad. Atemu needed only to wait for the palace guards to change at night, and he quite easily snatched his horse and rode away.

It had taken him a day and a half of travel to reach Armana, and now as his steed trotted towards the gate of the town, a soldier bade him to stop.

"No one is allowed to enter, by order of Priest Seto," the soldier said.

Atemu sighed and tossed back his hood. It was fruitless to hide his identity now, when he had no need for it anyway. The soldier gasped and stumbled on an apology before quickly moving aside. Atemu could not quite conceal the smug satisfaction that he felt at the soldier's reaction, but gave no further thought on it as he urged his steed to gallop towards the plaza, where he was certain the Guardians' tents lay.

Learning from one of their colleagues' folly, no one else dared stop the far-too-determined prince and it was without much obstacle or hindrance that Atemu reached his destination. He made his way to the High Priest Seto's tent, drawn in by the rather... loud discussion that was taking place inside. He needed no announcement as he opened the flaps of the tent and entered, catching the attention of the two priests who were arguing with each other. His untimely entrance had stopped the conversation, however, as Mahado paled considerably at Atemu's present and had closed his mouth, refusing to fight with Seto any further.

Seto eyed Atemu with surprise, before his cerulean eyes burned with anger. Atemu paid him no heed, however. Worried over Mahado's sickly complexion – and what a dreadful sight his friend truthfully made! – Atemu, without preamble, enfolded his dearest friend in an embrace, hoping to offer whatever meager comfort he could give. Mahado stiffened at the contact, as expected, but recovered fast enough to appease the Prince before pulling back. He kept a friendly distance between his friend and himself. Truly, he was too old to be comforted in this manner. He was not ashamed of his friendship with the prince, but to be made to look vulnerable in front of the other priest... it was embarrassing enough for Mahado to remember the situation.

"You know the roads are not as safe now to travel alone, sire," Mahado softly advised.

Atemu predictably shook his head, in that usual rebellious manner of his. The prince knew a lot of things, including the peril of travelling alone. But he was not known to back down despite that knowledge.

"What are you doing here?" Seto butted in, recovering from the shock, done with deducing Atemu's actions. He had given the two a brief private moment as he gestured for the soldiers guarding outside to leave and keep the prince's presence unknown. Now it was time for him to remind the prince of the ridiculous gambit he had played,

"I'm being here for Mahado, as any other friend of Mahado would if you just had the sympathy to tell us what had happened!" Atemu accused, throwing the blue-eyed priest a glare. The priest was many things – one of these was that he was very stubborn and he was not known to back down.

"Do you even realize how much danger you put yourself into? If word of you being here becomes known, who knows the attacks we will have to face just by protecting you!"

Atemu defiantly crossed his arms.

"If you have only gotten more reliable scouts, then I wouldn't be here in the first place!"

It was too late for Atemu to realize what he had said, and at Mahado's pained gasp, his eyes widened; his posture instantly turning apologetic.

"I'm sorry, Mahado. It wasn't—"

The priest shook his head, smiling that sad smile of his as he stood up.

"It's alright. You did not speak falsely," the priest remarked, darting a glance at Seto, who in turn glanced at Atemu. They were a comic sight, Mahado thought to himself, all lingering gazes and no tactful words shared. "Excuse me, my friends."

With a curt nod directed at both, Mahado left.

Atemu turned to the remaining priest, looking at him accusingly. Seto sighed and made his way to his desk, reclaiming the seat he had relinquished earlier during his and Mahado's conversation. He had things to finish, prince or no, and he had to finish them as soon as possible. They had strategies they needed to be making, after all. Atemu calmed down eventually, deciding against pursuing his friend. He was not going to exacerbate the situation by invading Mahado's privacy, not after what he had unwittingly said. So he decided to approach Seto instead, hoping to be of help. The priest met his eyes, reading the intention behind them, and wordlessly offered the scrolls in front of him. This was their stalemate, Atemu thought as he perused the first report his eyes alighted on. In silence, he and Seto worked. Without a doubt, he was sure that Seto's thoughts were far from his task as well.

Feeling guilty, he sighed and looked at the other man.

"I'm sorry," he told the priest. "I cannot imagine what a nightmare this is turning out for the two of you."

"You only sought to reach out to him. There is nothing to apologize for. I suppose instead of hiding this from you, I should have just accepted that fact and guaranteed your safe travel instead," Seto replied.

His eyes fell on the prince, regarding the youth with an indecipherable gaze. He was not aware of how long he was doing this until Atemu looked up from what he was reading and caught him. Reddening, Seto turned back to the scroll and promptly decided to keep to himself for the rest of the night.

**THEN: **

Following Kisara's rescue, Seto embarked on the journey back to Egypt. Wth him was good news for his Pharaoh. The peace treaty had been signed, and the kingdom would be spared from attacks their neighbor would initiate. The threat had passed, and it was a joyous thing to announce. They had travelled almost ceaselessly for three long days, and the sight of the capital's strong, fortifying walls were indeed welcome to Seto's eyes. He was home. Seto could not help the eager smile that his lips curved into as he thought of the manner by which he would inform the Pharaoh of his achievement. He was not going to lie. He was positively looking forward to it!

And indeed, the Pharaoh was pleased with his news, so much so that the Pharaoh had ordered for celebrations to take place later that evening, in honor of Seto's efforts and the peace he had assured for the people of Egypt. Master Akunadin, who stood loyally by the Pharaoh's side, threw him an approving look, and Seto's pride soared. He might have been an orphan, but as he was undergoing his training, Master Akunadin had treated him almost as if he were his son. Yet he found his thoughts to be straying towards one fellow, in particular—someone who had made laudable effort to be so frigid around him—who was not there in the throne room when he made his announcement.

The palace brimmed with gaiety and free-flowing alcohol as the celebration began. Except for the guards who were on duty that night, everyone else was on a lighter mood as the Pharaoh began the celebration with a toast to his Guardians, announcing to all his guests the purpose of the event. The Crown Prince sat dutifully beside him, his rich crimson eyes ever observant of his father's guests. It had become his hobby of some sort – to scrutinize behavior, and this night was no different. He caught, for example, one of the palace servants stealing a drink of wine while no one was looking, and found that he could not fault the man for such action. To the commoners, wine was a luxury. What more, the servants?

The thing about his father's celebrations was, there was an unannounced declaration to break protocol. As soon as his father ended his speech, he saw the guests mingling with each other already, defying ranks and boundaries that court politics would, on a normal day, disallow. But Atemu made no move to leave his seat. (It was quite comfortable, as you may well know.) It was then that the hero of the hour approached him, smug with his reasonably-deserved accomplishment.

To Atemu, High Priest Seto was an incredibly brilliant man. He would not lie about the man's intellect; his skill at dealing with his duties was admirable. Yet his treatment of Mahado, Atemu deemed, was lacking and he was ever cautious of the priest who had openly mocked his friend, Mahado, upon his initiation as a Guardian.

"You are quiet, your Highness," Seto pointed out.

"There is little to talk about," Atemu answered, averting his gaze.

He was not blind to the other man's allure. In fact, Seto's return had made him more appealing. Atemu could see that he had tanned wonderfully, his skin providing a stark contrast to the luminosity of his cerulean eyes. Having removed his headdress, Seto's hair was in a rustled mess, which surprisingly suited him. Somehow the stray locks that fell on his forehead lessened by a margin the intensity of Seto's gaze, making it easier for Atemu to hold it. At Atemu's response, Seto tsked and deftly grabbed a goblet just as a servant passed by. He offered it to the prince, his smile traitorously charming.

"Funny how this is a celebration and yet you are as loose as a rock," the priest commented. "Will you not drink, your Highness?"

There was a wariness in the way Atemu regarded the priest. Even as he drank the offered drink, his eyes did not leave the priest's impassive face. This wariness, Atemu could not explain. Since the beginning, he had been like that to the priest – lured by perhaps Seto's inherent pull, and yet strongly pushed back by his over-all suspicion of the man. Of course, it didn't help that Seto was immensely antagonizing Mahado, who Atemu was fiercely protective of, and the priest's efforts to rile him up on several occasions might have perhaps exacerbated his reception to the other man. Nevertheless, Atemu could not deny the truth that the other man's statements were implying, and he berated himself for being a spoilsport in the midst of festivities. Having sipped from the goblet, he placed it on the table and met Seto's questioning gaze.

"I suppose a little... enjoyment is not out of the question," he conceded, finding the smirk that Seto responded with a welcome sight on the man's face, yet equally annoying.

The priest maintained his distance and kept silent, a gesture Atemu realized to be Seto's way of giving him control of the situation. If he were to decide to strike a conversation, Seto was offering him the room to do so. And if he did not desire anything to do with the priest, the priest's silence would spare him of the embarrassment. It was a good diplomatic move, and indignation flashed through Atemu. He was not some foreign ambassador to be manipulated by this man!

"I would congratulate you for what you have done for Egypt. But I gather this celebration speaks of how much your efforts have already been appreciated," he said after a while.

Seto shook his head.

"Nonsense, my prince. Your words would mean more to me than all the wine in this room," Seto countered.

Seto was far from ignorant. He knew the prince was merely being courteous. It was a bit condescending, really, and it was a small annoyance on his part. But he understood where Atemu was coming from... or he had an idea, at least. By instinct, he glanced at one of the Guardians and fought the grimace from making its way to his face. There were only two soldier priests among the Pharaoh's Guardians. One of them was he. The other one was Mahado. Mahado's friendship with the prince was known to everyone, and it rankled on Seto to have the other priest have an advantage against him. Cruel a thought it might be, but Seto had always believed that the only compelling reason for Mahado's appointment as a Guardian was because he was the Prince's most cherished friend. Ah, but he would not think about those things tonight. Seto shook his head and focused his attention on the prince. This was supposed to be a night of gaiety, and he would not achieve that by thinking about Mahado.

It took a while for Atemu to realize that the priest was misleadingly trying to flirt with him. To say that he was flustered would be partially true, if it weren't for the mixture of emotions that the priest's action elicited from him. How did one respond to such mechanisms anyway? He berated himself mentally and pulled himself together, smiling stiffly at the priest's words.

"Then you have my profuse thanks, Master Seto," Atemu said, delighting in the flicker of disappointment that he saw in the other man's eyes. Take that, he thought. But this was silly. To feel such childish glee at beating someone in a game he did not even know he was participating in, was not necessarily a victory Atemu would be proud to call his own. He did not understand his passive-aggressive stance towards the other man, and yet, he also could not deny the thrill of this verbal sparring he initiated with him.

Contrary to the prince's beliefs, Seto was aware of their banter. But instead of being riled up by it, he found himself enjoying it. There was a certain excitement in anticipating the prince's responses, and his competitive nature surely thrived in the edginess that the prince would let slip when he lost to Seto. These... mind games were fun, and it partially explained why Seto made it a point to approach the prince whenever he could.

"I wonder, my prince," he started, drawing Atemu's eyes into his, "How will your 'profuse thanks' manifest? Would it feel utterly delightful, as I have often thought it will be?"

The implication of the priest's words rang loud in Atemu's ears, and his cheeks visibly reddened. Seto felt triumphant at that, knowing he had won this round, and he was about to exploit it when Mahado walked towards them, his intention to interrupt bright as day. Instantly, Seto's mood soured and he turned to the Guardian.

"Perhaps someone needs to retire from the celebration," Seto blandly said, aiming his acerbic remark at the approaching priest, his banter with the prince almost completely forgotten. It wasn't fair, really, that Mahado would be able to spend more time with the prince and then, have the dim-witted guts to further shorten whatever time is left for Seto. How did he become friends with the prince anyway? Finding difficulty in reigning in his irritation, Seto added, "Guardianship duties are quite taxing, you know... especially for the untested."

"That is enough, Master Seto," Atemu intervened, his mood shifting from flustered to protectiveness in a blink of an eye. He stole a glance at his friend and saw the briefest flash of hurt in Mahado's eyes, and he glared at Seto. "Your remarks are baseless and uncalled for. I would see that you apologize to Master Mahado."

What other choice did he have?

Against his wishes, Seto faced the other Guardian and curtly bowed.

"My words were ill-founded. Please accept my apology," he gritted out, feeling Atemu's eyes on him.

"You are forgiven, Master Seto," Mahado quickly replied, wishing not to aggravate things. He could not help the prince's protective nature, even if he wished the monarch would leave him be sometimes. Mahado felt that Atemu never realized that his continuous intervention was the fuel to Master Seto's overbearing ire.

"Excuse me, your Highness, Master Mahado. I find that I have to be elsewhere," Seto, then said. At the prince's leave, Seto hastily turned around and walked away. He was in no mood to celebrate tonight. Why, oh why, did he ever think he would enjoy this night? Were it better for him to just be civil!

But Atemu's eyes were on his retreating back, even when he refused to glance back. With a wistful sigh, Atemu followed the priest's back until he could not see Seto anymore. That was the only time that he glanced at his friend, smiling welcomingly.

"Do not pay attention to his words. You know they are not true," he told Mahado.

"I know, my prince," was the priest's soft reply.

**To be continued...**

******A/N: Thank you for your kindest words. I will reply to each one soon, don't worry. In the meantime, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. I look forward to hearing your thoughts! **


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5: Reverie **

Like most towns in Egypt, Armana was blessed by a cold, relaxing air at night. It was as if it compensated for the heat that emanated from the ground at day, and it was this thought that Mahado welcomed. Having gathered his composure after the Prince's tactless outburst, and anxious about the all-too-knowing gaze he would be subject to upon his return, Mahado had taken his retreat by strolling the empty streets of Armana. Thoughts of his fallen friends beckoned to him, and so was the accompanying grief. But he strengthened his resolve and focused on shutting these thoughts out, at least for the moment. Grief had paralyzed him for three days, affecting his contribution to the mission and his vow of vengeance, and he was sick of it. He would not be distracted by this again.

As he passed by the marketplace, it struck him how the small empty public place reminded him of his friends. Refusing to fuel it, Mahado reflected on the Prince and Priest Seto instead. There was no mistaking the attraction the two had for each other, one that Mahado had guiltily obstructed on purpose from time to time. Suffice to say, his efforts had only aggravated the volatile working relationship he had with the other priest, yet perhaps even Seto would not hold it against him if he only did what he thought would protect the Prince the most? After all, on several occasions, the priest had been too forthcoming in his dealings with Atemu that Mahado's protective nature was essentially raised as well as an immediate response!

Nature or no, Mahado did know his boundaries. He was expected to keep the Prince safe, but he was not expected to interfere with the royal's personal affairs. No one was accorded that right, come to think of it. But with mounting frustration, MAhado couldn't help but despair at the Prince's seemingly choice. Of all the people in Egypt, did it really have to be Seto?

By now, Mahado had already made full circle of the parameters he had unconsciously taken in his stroll, and was now staying just a few meters from camp. He found a nice, comfortable spot by the well and sat there, still feeling quite unready to face the priest or the prince just yet.

It was at this spot that a soldier, mistaking him for another, chanced upon him, dropping a heavy hand on his unsuspecting soldier. His body stiffened and in an instant, Mahado was on his feet, taking a defensive posture as the soldier realized his mistake.

"Forgive me, sire!" The soldier was quick to plead. The taciturn priest shrugged in response, shaking his hea.d

"You are seeking your friend. No apology is needed. But may I inquire why this is so? Has not the men been commanded to stay in camp tonight?"

"He was dispatched with the search party, my lord. They have yet to return," the soldier admitted. "He is my brother's nephew, and has often taken that spot. Thus, in the shadow, I mistook your silhouette for his. Forgive me, my lord."

"And again, I say to you that it is unnecessary. What news of the party?"

The soldier shook his head miserably, dashing the initial threads of hope that was budding from his heart. Would the search be fruitful and he would be eternally grateful to the gods! But that was not so, it seemed. Nodding his acknowledgement of the man's response, he bade his leave and rose. Quite suddenly, the night had lost its appeal to Mahado as he made his way back to the tent in silence.

At the back of his mind, he admitted that he expected to see the prince there. Such was their routine. It was to his disappointment, therefore, to see no trace of the crimson-eyed royal inside the tent. Since the prince's arrival was unannounced, Mahado doubted there was a spare tent for him to use. Then it only meant that Atemu was with Seto, did it not?

Ah, but what business did he have with whoever Atemu chose to stay with? He was just a companion, with the convenient task of making sure the Prince was safe. So with a weary sigh, Mahado lay down and felt, finally, the exhaustion buried in the recesses of his body. Fuelled by the bouts of weakness he still felt, his exhaustion called out to him and he found that he was powerless to hold it at bay. No sooner had his head touched the pillow did Mahado's eyes slip shut as the wounded priest fell into a dreamless sleep.

When next Mahado regained his senses, it was to the sensation of being roughly shaken awake. He woke up to see the Prince crowding his personal space, looking far too excited for their current situation. As a force of habit, Mahado rubbed his eyes, his vision of Atemu still blurry, and Atemu, as a force of habit, as well, did not wait for him to recover.

"I have wonderful news, Mahado!" Atemu announced.

"You did not sleep?" It really was too early for this, the priest thought as his gaze landed on the royal. He took note of the slight redness in Atemu's eyes, the tired expression even the brightest smiles could not conceal, and he frowned.

"I did," Atemu defensively answered before his expression shifted. Sheepishly, and at Mahado's unbelieving stare, he added, "Although it was not for long. But never mind that! Mahado, come quickly!"

Studying the many maps and reports haplessly piled in Seto's tent was a tedious task, and it had made Atemu drowsy. He could not quite hide his constant yawning, nor his annoyance when Seto had casually reminded him that it would be better for him to rest. However, when one of the priest's men came rushing in, announcing the arrival of the search party, all thoughts of slumber was lost to Atemu. Instead, he found himself waiting for every word and was instantly delighted upon hearing survivors amidst the party's scouts.

Mahado complied without much protest and allowed Atemu to drag him to the plaza where the riders were waiting. Atemu's optimistic tone teased his curiosity, of course, that he could not help but hope that this batch's return would be a good one. Upon reaching the open area, he froze immediately as he saw the unconscious figure of Mhotep in one of the party scouts' arms. On another horse, Mdjai could barely sit up straight but his face broke into a smile upon sight of the priest. The twins looked worse for wear, yet they were alive and that was the only thing that Mahado could ask for.

"Captain!" Mdjai breathlessly exclaimed, equally delighted to see their leader safely returned and recovering in the camp. His usual mirthful eyes were laced with tendrils of pain, and he winced at his every movement, even just by breathing. The pained expression was what snapped Mahado into action, and just like what Seto did for him days ago, he barked out orders to the soldiers nearby. Just because the twins were there did not mean they were out of danger. From a distance, Mahado could tell that both of them were still grievously wounded and exhausted; their recovery must be prioritized.

The soldiers had taken the twins to Mahado's tent, following the priest's belief that his tent was by far the most comfortable that the two could stay in. He was then sent out as the healers came in, doing their usual routine of checking the wounds and putting the necessary herbs to heal them.

With all these activities, there was bound to be a commotion to catch the Priest Seto's attention, and he, quite expectedly, stepped out of his tent and took command as Mahado remembered the Prince who stood behind him, watching quietly. Mahado met the young royal's gaze and smiled, an earnest one that showcased his reinvigorated hope.

"I am happy for you, my friend," Atemu told him.

But even Mahado was far from a pink state of health. He swayed all of a sudden, a wave of vertigo washing through him like a tide. He felt lightheaded and when he looked up, found Atemu placing a hand to support his back as he was led to his tent.

This was the price he paid. No sleep, no recuperation, no reprieve. The healers bade him to lie down and chided him for his foolishness. But Mahado did not protest as he turned to Atemu, feeling guilty at the worry that marred the prince's features.

"I wouldn't have it any other way. I'm glad you're safe, but you must rest," Atemu interrupted, knowing what he was about to say. "Rest, Mahado. Your body deserves it."

He knew when a battle was lost and with a sigh, Mahado welcomed his exhaustion. He closed his eyes just as Atemu sat beside him. His last thoughts were that of certainty—that this time, it was Atemu who would be watching his sleep.

**THEN**

On most occasions, the heat of the afternoon sun was as unmerciful as the gods' wrath. There would be times when the air was too humid that the very air men breathed thickened as it trailed down the pharynx, and sweat poured unrestrictedly, like water coursing from the River Nile when it was swollen. But today, the sun hid behind a veil of clouds, providing cool winds to cool off the heated sands of Egypt and a pleasant afternoon for the children to play out in the streets. From their houses, children of different ages came out with excitement, reveling in the freedom that they were accorded now that they did not need to fear for heat strokes, or what-not. Streets that were vacated for the afternoon siesta soon filled up with children playing their games, and it was to this sight that a wistful Crown Prince gazed at.

From the balcony of the palace library, the Crown Prince sat, his studies laid out in front of him as he bore the long-suffering, exasperated gaze of his tutor. They were discussing Egypt's trade history today-or had been, until the joyous laughter from below roused the young royal's attention, that is. Trade has never really been Atemu's forte. His mind protested against the presentation of numbers in the scrolls and the series of relentless negotiations and politicking that usually came with the trade agreements. As soon as he discovered the reality of these agreements, Atemu lost any appeal he could have for them, and had dreaded every moment allocated for trade studies.

Suffice to say, Atemu was not fond of it.

But like many things, the Prince's opinion on this matter was hardly significant. Although privileged beyond ordinary means, a Crown Prince bore the fate of eventually inheriting the throne and the problems that went with it. And as such, in spite of the freedom of movement usually accorded to him, there were non-negotiables with regards to the Prince's education. Trade included. With a long, shaky sigh, Atemu averted his gaze and went back to the scrolls he was reading, grimacing at the thought that this was only one of the six that he needed to understand by sun down. Oh, what a nightmare!

Restricting the Prince within the four walls of the library when he was so very clearly distracted was a futile task. From where the tutor stood, Atemu's fidgeting was noticeable and his supposedly subtle glances were no longer as discreet as the prince wanted them to be. Suhad droned endlessly on trade agreements and the complexities of each one, but he was not ignorant of the fact that the Prince was not even listening. Since the Prince was a toddler, it was Suhad who supervised his education and this challenging task had taught him many things about the young royal. Atemu's mannerisms, for instance, were bright as day to him and with a fond but exasperated sigh, Suhad stopped midway from finishing his discussion on the Nubians.

This caught the Prince's attention, as he had expected, as he met Atemu's curious and slightly apologetic eyes.

"It's a wonderful afternoon, is it not?" Suhad inquired conversationally, picking the scrolls he had laid down in front of the Prince.

"Yes it is, teacher," Atemu answered, not quite knowing where the conversation was headed. The look he threw at the tutor was that of wariness, and Suhad stifled a chuckle.

"Methinks we should not waste this afternoon with lessons we do not pay attention to. Do you not agree, my prince?"

When he had caught the direction of the conversation, Atemu suddenly sat straighter, his posture screaming with anticipation that Suhad could not possibly dash his hopes and continue his lecture. They have been studying _endlessly _for the past few days; surely even they deserved a break?

Atemu's reaction was fast. Without much fuss, the Prince nodded his head gratefully and rose to his feet. He left the library as soon as Suhad gave him his leave.

As the Prince rounded on a corner, he unwittingly bumped into another fellow. He fell to the ground with a grunt and looked up, immediately seeing an offered hand.

"My apologies," the other boy mumbled. He was almost shy in his stance, Atemu noticed. The other boy had long, pale brown hair and sad, downcast eyes that refused to meet Atemu's gaze. In fact, there was a general timidity that emanated from him that Atemu could not help but feel protective of him.

"My name is Atemu," the Prince introduced, causing the other boy to look up. Softly, he added, "May I inquire what yours is?"

"M-Mahado, sire," the other boy answered.

It was rare for the Crown Prince to meet other people who were of the same age, and even so, he was known to dislike the ones he met. They were pompous sons and daughters of the members of his father's court, and could not be bothered about the 'simple' joys that Atemu enjoyed. Well, quite frankly, Atemu was unbothered by it. But Mahado seemed not to be like the other children he had met before, and to this thought, Atemu found himself smiling.

"No titles, please," Atemu said. "I'd rather that we be friends... and friends do not bother with titles, do they?"

If Mahado was intimidated by the Prince's bold actions, he was quiet about it. His acquiescence pleased Atemu, and happily, he led the other boy to the courtyard. There were games a-waiting for the duo.

Later that day, Atemu learned that Mahado was the lone survivor of an attack made on an unsuspecting town that morning. That one of the Pharaoh's Guardians happened on such unfortunate circumstance was lucky; and that a child went unnoticed as he watched friends and family be slain was a blessing. But at this knowledge, Atemu's heart broke for his new friend. No one deserved such fate, even less an innocent.

Over his untouched food – Atemu found he had lost his appetite at the news – the Prince felt a surge of protectiveness replace his despair, and his resolve strengthened.

**To be continued...**


End file.
